We're Never As Alone As We Think We Are

I just stumbled upon a magazine article about women who discovered their husbands' secret lives. One woman learned her husband was a pedophile and a child pornographer. One discovered her husband had a bad habit of robbing banks when he was away from home. The article told one sad story after another, but all of the women had cut their ties and moved on and seemed to be living reasonably happy lives.

The story made me realize something my friend B always tells me - somewhere there are at least three people going through something similar to what you're experiencing. It made me feel better momentarily, but in the end I felt just as lost and dejected as before. No one else's sad story is ever quite as devastating as your own. I could empathize with these women, but I couldn't feel the weight of their betrayal crushing their souls.

I know that I too will move on and put Dear Husband's betrayal behind me, but I don't know when that will happen. I endure suffering so much better when I know the approximate duration - a seven-minute MRI, a 90-minute 'creative team' meeting, a five-day visit to my father. The prospect of interminable grief is making me feel blue. My efforts to stave it off for a day or even an hour at a time have been unsuccessful. I know the only way through this is to sit in my feelings. I'm trying to do that, but it feels like waiting for a bus that's never going to come.